


hold me in your arms, until the morning light

by xxpaynoxx



Series: futbol ficlets [11]
Category: Football RPF
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-14
Updated: 2016-09-14
Packaged: 2018-08-14 22:59:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 570
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8032360
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/xxpaynoxx/pseuds/xxpaynoxx
Summary: 31) things you said while I cried in your arms





	hold me in your arms, until the morning light

**Author's Note:**

> You kids asked for it.

There’s a number in James’s phone.

It has no name, just the peace emoji in its place. The last call is dated sometime last year, during the summer, and James knows exactly why the call happened. He remembers it like it was yesterday, the cold wind from the ocean and the racing beat of his heart as he sped along a winding mountain road, looking for someone who wasn’t there anymore.

His phone buzzes after a game, as he’s looking at the results of the games played. He hears about it before he sees it.

Cuadrado says something, chatters about some handball from Peru that was deemed a goal, and he curled his lip, spitting out that the man was “just like Maradona in the World Cup”.

Of course, James looks it up, and watches the goal again and again. The entire bus is angered, and yes, they may not like Brazil, but a goal like that should never be allowed, under any circumstances.

His phone vibrates, and he knows exactly who it is before he even looks at the caller ID.

He gets off the bus first, and makes it into the hotel before everyone else. A woman who looks extremely official, with straight black hair and a Colombian pin on her blazer, approaches him.

“There’s someone waiting in your room,” she whispers, and James nods, realizing this before as he picks up the phone, listening to the person breathing on the other end.

“Are you _crying_?” he asks, flabbergasted as he stops in his steps, because he’s hiccuping, his breath sounds like it’s hitching and he sounds _terrible_.

“ _Please just come upstairs,”_ he hears him plead, and James makes it up the stairs two at a time, not giving a fuck that he’s supposed to be resting his legs. With his shoulder, he’ll probably be out anyway.

He slams open his door, and he barely registers there’s a person there before he’s moving, dropping all of his bags and enveloping the boy standing in front of him, one hand on his back and the other resting on his head, pressing his face into his chest.

He’s shaking, and James knows why; they’ve been over this many times, he’s seen it everywhere in the media. He cares about his country, and he feels like he failed them because that’s who he is; he cares with his whole heart, and when it’s broken, everything breaks with it.

So James pets his hair and cups his face and tells him.

“Don’t blame yourself.”

He goes to open his mouth, but James presses a finger against his lips.

“Don’t you fucking blame yourself for something you can’t control. It’s not your fault this happened, there’s nothing you could have done because it’s happened. You need to let this go and move onto the Olympics, move onto your other competitions. Ignore the press, ignore the people who are going to say you’re worthless, because you’re not. You’ve held this country up for so long, that they have no right to turn their back on you and call you unfaithful.”

When he whispers “kiss me”, softly and shakily, James does, because he knows that’s the only thing that’ll make him whole again. He puts all his pieces back together, and when he wakes up the next morning with his head on his chest, looking peaceful as his eyelashes flutter against his cheeks, James smiles.


End file.
